Sweet, sweet memories you gave-a me
you can't beat the memories you gave-a me
Take one fresh and tender kiss
Add one stolen night of bliss
One girl, one boy
Some grief, some joy
Memories are made of this
-Dean Martin, Memories are made of this
War.
War never changes.
Empires and civilizations rise and fall. Only for another generation of soldiers, peasants and despots to fill their gap. Soldiers are run through with sword, struck down with rifle, only to be dismissed as pawns of the war machine, the peasants constantly ponder if they will be next in line to die for their nation, god or vassal. The despots always sustain their frivolous lifestyle, always at the expense of others.
Plans change, structures are torn asunder by siege machines, and then rebuilt. World leaders resign. Hopes are shattered and then rekindled.
Civilization always plunges into a dark age in time... but war never changes.
Long ago, the folly of humanity brought on itself yet another dark age, this more terrifying and lamenting than the previous. A great silence fell over the world, lasting several years as the ashes of the nuclear fire straddled the battered surface of the earth. But humanity in its entirety was not yet defeated.
Survivors from all over the Earth gathered after centuries of tribal and primitive warfare, the gaping wounds of civilization only slowly began to heal.
It was here, in the lush and vegetative ruins of the Canadian province Alberta, that the scar tissue began to truly develop. The nation of Canada was annexed by the United States as a final effort of humanitarian defiance, to intimidate their Chinese enemies. The Canadian people had faced new nightmares in the hands of the occupying force.
Almost two hundred years after the apocalyptic devastation, deep in Edmonton, a mysterious figure, shadowed by obscurity and mere folktales united the gangs and factions, giving them a reason to collaborate, to go on living. Even in his necrosis, his legacy is survived by his children, leading the Sovereign Republic of Edmonton. Withholding exotic power sources as a well trained army, the SRE is universally loathed, and has been described as a trout in a sea of sharks.
The Albertan region was still being fought over by several warring factions and raider groups, the Republic clinging to their mysterious trinkets that every faction seemed to want for themselves. The people of Alberta consistently had something to hide, and not much to tell.
A myriad of travelers had come to Edmonton and the surrounding areas for differing reasons. Work, food, water, weapons, power, retirement, or just to find a reason to go on living. Though they all had one thing in common: They wanted answers. Ones that would be difficult to get, lest they unite.
